


Sick Leave

by Firekitten



Category: RWBY
Genre: Just your Typical Sick Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:13:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21740749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firekitten/pseuds/Firekitten
Summary: When Qrow fails to show up for work one morning, Clover goes to investigate why and finds himself taking care of a more personal mission.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 44
Kudos: 455





	Sick Leave

**Author's Note:**

> I had hinted to a few of the previous reviewers of "A Bit of Luck" that I had another Fair Game story in the works.
> 
> Welp, here it is!

“Alright, first up: the west wall in Mantle is showing signs of weakening. Who wants Grimm patrol duty on that? We need a team of two.” Clover called.

“Oh! Me, me, me!” As usual, Ruby was the first to bounce in her seat, swinging her arm around. Despite the many long weeks of duty, her enthusiasm hadn’t ebbed at all.

“I’ll go with her.” Jaune offered next, sipping on his coffee.

He nodded, turning back to the board and assigning their names to the job. “Next up is another haul of dust to Amity. Team of five.” He glanced back, about to volunteer himself and Qrow.

And realized the man’s seat was empty. It wasn’t entirely unusual; the older huntsman sometimes slept in and trudged in halfway through. He instead assigned Nora, Ren, Weiss, Harriet and Marrow as they volunteered. He tasked out the most pressing three search and destroy missions to Penny, Yang and Blake, and Elm and Vine.

Checked the seat once again – still empty. “Has anyone seen Qrow?”

“Maybe his alarm didn’t go off?” Nora offered.

The missing man’s nieces shared a glance, before the younger pulled out her scroll and said, “I’ll call him.” A moment later, she placed it to her ear, only to frown. “It’s going straight to voicemail.”

Yang frowned, before rolling her eyes. “Well. He got to three months at least.” When her little sister glared her way, she added, “What? You know that’s what he did.”

“You don’t know that! Maybe he broke his phone.”

“Yeah, when he dropped it in his drink at the bar.”

“Alright, that’s enough ladies.” Clover intervened before this could become a full-blown family dispute. “I’ll go check on him. The rest of you start your missions. That’s an order.”

No one rose argument, the room clearing out quickly. Ruby was the only one to hang back, looking at him. “Will you message me? Just so I can know if he’s okay?”

It was most obvious in her eyes how young of a huntress she was. So openly concerned and honest – something an enemy would eventually take advantage of. He’d have to teach her the finer points of a poker face somewhere down the line. “Of course, but I wouldn’t worry too much.”

She nodded, doing her best to smile before she followed after Jaune.

Clover headed out the opposite way, back towards the housing area, unable to get the sisters’ argument out of his head. He had remembered what Qrow had said last week, about having given up drinking. At the time, he hadn’t thought anything of it. But it seemed the other man had stretched the truth a bit – he wasn’t a former alcoholic, but a recovering one.

That… complicated things.

At least now he understood the root of Lieutenant Winter’s disdain for the seasoned huntsman. He had used to believe it was jealousy that made her sneer whenever Qrow’s name was uttered. After all, what trainee _didn’t_ hear at least a few stories of the infamous STRQ who both held the record as the only team to win the Vytal Festival Championship Two bi-annual seasons in a row and still held the record for most completed field missions while still in school of all the Kingdoms’ academies? He certainly had, and had used those stories as a personal benchmark to overcome – he’d even been excessively proud when he and his team managed to quickly subdue Qrow when the man had first entered Atlas (though he’d never tell him that). Now he had to wonder if the only reason he’d won that fight that day was because Qrow was in the throes of withdrawal and not at the top of his game.

However, the more prominent question was, if the girls were indeed right and the other Huntsman has gone back to drinking, what could he do about it?

It didn’t take long to get to Qrow’s floor. One elevator ride and one left turn down the hall and he was at his door, giving it three hard raps.

When a minute passed without response, he repeated the action, harder and louder. “Qrow, it’s me!”

Nothing.

Clover frowned, suspicion shifting to worry. Even if he had gotten completely smashed last night, he wouldn’t be unresponsive. Something was wrong.

He pulled out his scroll, and though it was a bit unethical to use his high security access this way, he reasoned it away that he was just making sure the other was okay. He pulled up the mainframe for the dormitory doors and disengaged the lock, hearing it click. He pulled it open, stepping inside. It was standard issue, with a small kitchenette and living space and a short hallway that lead to the bed and bathroom. There were signs of it being lived in. A pair of dressed shoes haphazardly strewn under the coffee table. A half-full glass of water by the sink. A hand towel hanging over the edge of the counter. Bags of nonperishable foods left atop the mini-fridge.

But no Qrow.

Knowing there was only one place he could be, he headed down the hall, knocking on the bedroom door. “Qrow, you in there? It’s Clover.”

This, finally, yielded an answer. A somewhat unintelligible “Hold on!”, and then some shuffling, before the door was opening a few inches. Watery red eyes squinted out at him. “What?” He croaked, voice raspier than usual.

“You missed mission assigning and – you look awful.” He looked him over, taking in his overly gaunt and pale complexion and the blanket he’d draped over his shoulders. Felt relieved when he realized this had to be a natural sickness. Though rare for Huntsman, cold shock wasn’t an uncommon issue foreigners faced when traveling to Atlas, especially those daring to venture out into the tundra. The new environment combined with the brutal temperatures chipped away at even the strongest immune systems, often leading to some rather unpleasant sicknesses.

“Feel it too.” Qrow used the side of the door to prop himself. “Can I go back to bed now?”

“Of course.” He replied.

The other just nodded, not even bothering to shut the door as he trudged back to his bed and cocooned himself into the comforter.

Though it felt a little taboo, Clover invited himself in, walking over to his bedside. “Do you need anything? Medicine? Water?”

“Sleep.” He grumbled.

He gave a long-suffering sigh. Qrow was stubborn even in the best of situations; he couldn’t say he was surprised to learn he was an uncooperative ass when sick. But two could play it that game.

He reached out, placing his fingertips on the other’s forehead.

“Whachu doing, go ‘way!” Qrow whined, burying his face further into the blankets and out of Clover’s reach.

It was fine though, he got what he needed. “You’re burning up.”

“What a revelation. Who woulda thought the ill guy would have a fever?” His snark earned him a coughing fit.

Clover decided not to respond to it. “Have you taken anything?”

“Painkillers.”

“When?”

“Last night. Can you go away now?”

“Anything for the cough?” An annoyed groan was his only answer. “That’s a no. Alright then.”

He turned, heading for the bathroom. No protests came, Qrow either too sick or too tired to do so. As luck would have it, the bottle of medicine he was hoping to find was right on the counter and next to another half-full glass of water (seemed someone had a bad habit). He dumped what was left of the water, refilled it and shook out two pills, before returning to the other room.

Red-eyes glared up at him, but Qrow looked so miserable it made him appear more like an upset puppy than a true threat. “If I drink that will you finally leave?”

“Yes.” Clover promised.

He unearthed himself from the blankets, took the proffered medicine and then handed the glass back before curling back up into his nest.

“Good night.” He offered him, getting only a hum in return. He left the water by Qrow’s bedside in case he needed it, before he walked out and shut the door.

Then shut the second door as he left the suite. As he head down the hall, he mentally ticked off what he had back at his place that he could bring back here. After all, he’d promised he’d leave – he just never said for how long. Qrow would need something for that congestion of his, maybe the cough just in case, and some tea and soup would do wonders too.

Midway through his list, he remembered his other promise, and pulled out his scroll.

_Not hungover. Just sick._ He typed out.

Ruby’s reply was almost immediate. _Oh no! Is he going to be okay? Should I come back?_

Clover smiled. He really hoped Qrow knew what a great niece he had. _He’ll be fine, but I’m putting us on sick leave for a few days._

The next text came rather slow for the speedster. _‘Us?’_

_He’ll have a speedier recovery with me around. Good luck and all._ He wrote back. Never mind it wasn’t true – his semblance didn’t have _that_ much pull with fate.

_Oh, I guess that makes sense! Let him know I’ll come see him after work._

He guaranteed he would, before switching over to the Huntsman Missions app to update his and Qrow’s statuses. He knew the general would question it as soon as he saw it. Hopefully Clover could make the argument that Qrow was just too important an asset to leave unattended. In his weakened state, he wouldn’t be able to fight off any of Salem’s forces, so a ward to watch over him was the optimal option.

Yeah, that… sounded convincing, right?

* * *

As it turned out, it _did_ sound convincing. In a ‘I totally know what you are doing but won’t give you a hard time because you’re one of my best operatives’ kind of way.

As Clover stirred the warming soup in the pot, General Ironwood’s sly canter as he said, “Qrow sure is fortunate to have such a loyal co-worker” continued to ring in his ears. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised his boss had picked up on it; he hadn’t exactly been subtle with his flirting. What baffled him was his complacency. He’d gotten on the case of far younger and less reserved cadets for similar behavior, so why was he getting a pass?

Perhaps it was not the nature of the relationship, but the person involved? Was it because the general’s view of Qrow being a good friend made him more willing to look the other way?

“It’s boiling over.”

He jumped out of his thoughts, glancing at where Qrow was standing, still holding the blanket around himself like a lifeline, then down at the pot which was indeed on the verge of overflowing. He flipped off the burner and removed it off the heat. “Thanks.”

The other man eyed him. “You stayed.”

He wanted to say ‘Of course I stayed. I _like_ you, you oblivious Dodo!’ but he wasn’t exactly ready for that amount of honesty yet. Knowing how insecure Qrow was, he doubted he was ready either. So instead, he said, “Just wanted to make sure you had everything you needed.”

Whether it was the medicine, the extra sleep or both, he seemed much less ornery as he said, “Thanks. Not used to people taking care of me.”

That was a tidbit of information that screamed ‘tread carefully’. “No one at all?”

“Wouldn’t say that. My sister and I looked out for each other, once upon a time. And Tai and Summer were mother hens; that got annoying real fast.” He rubbed his eyes as if the reminder was giving him a headache. “But where I grew up it was a ‘in it for yourself’ mentality.”

There was a lot to unpack from that statement, and one Clover was not willing to press on today, much less when Qrow was ill. Instead he poured half the soup in a bowl and announced, “Well, guess you can add me to the list. And, you know what they say, three is common. Four is lucky.”

“That was the most poorly executed clover joke I’ve ever heard.”

“It was truly clever; you’re just too sick-minded to know it.” He ascertained. “Now take a seat and eat your soup.”

“Yes sir.” Qrow gave a mock salute, before plopping down into one of the chairs at the small dining table where the soup, a spoon, more water and three different types of medicine was set before him. He eyed them, mumbling, “You running a pharmacy?”

“Legally, no. I’ve got a table at the black market though.”

At least that joke awarded him a small laugh.

* * *

Qrow ate at a pace that would have driven Harriet insane, but he managed to finish the bowl, though he declined seconds. Clover set the rest of the soup away for later and cleaned up the dishes, all the while watching as the other man shuffled the few feet to the couch to curl up on it as he watched some old program. He didn’t recognize it, and it was old enough it wasn’t in color, but from the rather rambunctious laugh track, it had to be a comedy.

When he came over to set a mug of steaming tea down on the table, he finally got a chance to ask. “What is this?”

“You’ve never seen Lady in Red?” Qrow craned his head back to look at him. “What era are you from?”

“I’m only seven years younger than you.” He refuted.

“And yet you missed a classic.” He clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Maybe you’re not so lucky after all.”

He chuckled at that. “Do you need anything else right now?”

“No. But I have a feeling if I tell you that you can go, you’ll just come check on me in a few hours, won’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

He sighed, overly-exasperatedly by a nonexistent dilemma. “Then I guess you might as well stick around. Get some culture while you’re at it.” He shifted his legs, freeing up the last cushion on the couch.

Clover was not such a fool that he wouldn’t accept that offer.

That was how he spent his afternoon, binge-watching an old show and running commentary with the man beside him. It was a peculiar change of pace. He wasn’t used to such lazy days – but spending it with someone made it infinitely better. Granted, Qrow drifted off somewhere between episodes 5 and 6. (Clover would tell no one about the many times he snuck glances at him as he slept or how he found the man’s light snoring _endearing_.)

Thankfully, the program was entertaining enough to enjoy even in the silence. So much so that, before he knew it, the sun had fallen and Qrow was stirred back awake by a knock on the door as an actual lady in red came to visit.

* * *

The next few days went similarly. Clover would wake up early to scan over progress reports and assign missions to the teams, before heading off to make breakfast for Qrow and sit in and watch old reruns all morning with him. They tended to start off quiet, but as the meds kicked in, the elder showed signs of more energy and alertness. It waned sometime after their small break for lunch and then it was back on the couch for more. Ultimately, he tended to drift off, sometimes until evening when his nieces came to visit and play a few rounds of video games while Clover would make dinner for all of them.

Yang was also intent on invading her uncle’s bed space with a new stuffed animal every night. Clover imagined it was meant to mildly annoy him – but considering he caught Qrow making the llama tap dance with the gorilla one morning, he didn’t think it was working.

The whole affair felt so unusually domestic. The way he figured most of the citizens of Atlas and Mantle lived; but not a huntsman like himself.

And though he knew it couldn’t last, for just a little while, he allowed himself to enjoy the rare coziness and warmth of it all.

* * *

Qrow’s fever finally broke by day four.

Clover left his status on sick leave, but changed his own back to active.

* * *

“A nest of Grimm are collecting back in the sewers. Which two-” Clover read off dully.

“Me!” Ruby sang as expected.

“I would be thrilled to accompany her.” Penny chipped in.

He nodded tapping them in. His eyes scanned the next one, yet another dust supply run. He withheld a sigh. He never thought coming back to work would be so difficult. “Next up, we’ve got another transport going to Amity.”

“Sign us up.”

That voice had him snapping out of his stupor. He looked up, seeing Qrow lumbering in.

“Sure you’re up for that?” Yang asked.

He waved her off. “I got it. Can’t be letting you brats do _all_ the work.” He glanced his way. “Well? Any objections?”

Suddenly, hours spent driving through the endless tundra didn’t sound so boring. “None at all.”

He changed Qrow’s status and put down their names. The rest of the missions were assigned quickly and the teams broke off with their respective partners to get ready for the day ahead.

As everyone filed out, Clover joined his own teammate’s side. “I know the runs are usually pretty unexciting, but you really sure you can handle things if it turns south?”

“Pff, oh yeah. I’m pretty much back to 100%. That’s not why I chose that mission though.” He told him.

“Oh?”

“See, the Lady in Red’s two-part season finale airs at 6 tonight.” Qrow’s expression was utterly unashamed. “That’s the only mission that I’m guaranteed to get back on time.”

He snorted. “That’s awful.”

A shrug. “Well hey, if you bring some popcorn over, you’re welcome to watch it with me.”

For the first time that morning, Clover felt his energy flood back in, his usual smile pulling back at the edges of his mouth. Perhaps he’d just taken a medicine of a different kind. But the side effect was it made him do possibly foolish things as he responded with, “It’s a date.”

It must have been the luckiest day of his life, because Qrow smiled back.


End file.
